Stoke the 3AM Embers
by ChronicCombustion
Summary: A series of memories: ones that we've made and ones that have yet to be, but all are stories meant to be shared. (Skyrim drabbles from my 3am Writing Challenge on tumblr. Some related, some not. Occasional x-over with Champions of Norrath/EverQuest.) Various pairings. POV, genre, and ratings will vary.
1. Cooking

This is part of a daily writing challenge I came up with for myself over on tumblr in order to get back into writing on a consistent basis. Using a random number generator, prompts are taken from the book, _The 3am Epiphany_ by Brian Kiteley, and then paired with random music from my mp3 player to set a specific mood. The filled prompts cover several different fandoms, but are collectively known as the 3am Series. Others in this series are listed in my profile but for better organization I highly recommend checking them all out my Ao3 profile~  
(Descriptions of the actual prompts themselves are located on my tumblr under the tag, '3am-challenge.')

Disclaimer: I do not own The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, nor any of the characters/races/locations therein. I do, however, own Casath. Kiktar is property of my partner and is used with permission.

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3am Challenge Day 13  
Prompt: #48 - Cooking (600 words)  
Song: The Lord of the Rings: The Musical - The Road Goes On

Characters: Casath (male Dunmer/Champion of Azura), Kiktar (female Khajiit/Dovakiin)

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The fire crackled nicely in the large stone fireplace, encasing the whole of the main hall with its cozy glow.

It had been a good while since he'd been home – what with running off to do Lady Azura's biding and then chasing after the caravans to visit his father on the way back. An altogether productive journey but his armor afforded very little heat and he'd missed the feeling of being warm.

Newly washed and dressed in a clean set of clothes, Casath knelt beside the hearth to examine a massive hunk of venison impaled on the iron cooking spit. "So far, so good," he murmured, tugging off one of the leather gloves adorning his hands. He prodded gently at the skin of the meat, testing the amount of give with a calloused, charcoal-colored fingertip. "Yep. Just about done."

"You'll take any excuse to stick your hands into fire, won't you?"

Tilting his head to face the speaker, Casath allowed a playful grin to stretch across his face. "I am a Dunmer, my love, fire is my plaything." Sore muscles protesting, the dark elf pushed himself onto his feet with a soft grunt.

His wife chuckled. It was a gravely sound, harsh and clipped; a perfect match for her heavy Elswyr accent. "You amuse me, husband," she rasped, furred tail flicking lazily. "Just because you are fireproof does not mean you must bathe in it."

She stepped forward then, and wrapped lithe arms around her mate's shoulders. "This one has missed you."

Casath beamed. "I missed you, too, Kik."

They stood like that for a long moment, just holding each other and resting their foreheads together. As exhausting as his journey had been, Casath knew that Kiktar would have had it so much worse on her own trip. Khajiit were desert creatures, after all, and High Hrothgar was just about the coldest place you could get to on the entire surface of Nirn.

The fire popped and hissed and by and by the dark elf begrudgingly pulled back in order to check for wayward sparks. "This should be ready in a bit," he said, giving the meat a good couple of turns to look for any undercooked spots. He glanced up as Kik padded closer and leaned in. "If you needed to go change out of your armor…"

The Khajiit huffed. "Always trying to get me undressed." She sniggered as Casath gave her a look of mock-indignation and swatted at him playfully with her tail.

Kik rested a hand on her husband's shoulder and used it to help herself down onto the hearth beside him. She sat quietly for a moment, watching him crank the spit handle a few more times, before reaching over to the small iron pot just off to the side of the fire's core. Delicately – as she wasn't immune to flame like Casath was – Kiktar took hold of the wooden spoon and slowly began to stir the thin mixture inside.

"I am in no hurry," she said quietly. Taking a spoonful of broth, she ladled it carefully over the venison.

They took their time, just sitting in silence before the fireplace as dinner finished cooking. Every so often Casath would check to see how tender the meat was and once in a while Kik would spread another bit of broth over the top. They didn't speak much beyond the occasional murmur.

Rain began to fall softly outside, and the glow of the wall sconces burned low. The children were still in Whiterun, not set to join them for another day. All was quiet. All was calm.

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Since my partner and I both play Skyrim, we've started shipping our dragonborns. Kiktar is his female Khajiit, and Casath is my male Dunmer. I even adopted Lucia and Sophie (he adopted Sissel) in the Hearthfire DLC just so these two could have kids. The bit about Casath and the caravans is based off a little headcanon I have where Casath's family actually traveled with a Khajiit caravan for a while as guards. As a result, Casath has a great respect and affection for the Khajiit race as a whole.


	2. Life Story

Disclaimer still applies. I also do not own Champions of Norrath: Realms of EverQuest, nor any of the character/locations therein. Cin, Tila, and Venn are property of my partner and are used with permission.

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Day 20 **  
**Prompt: #94 - Life Story (300 words)  
Song: Adrian von Ziegler - The Sylvan's Path

Characters: Casath (Dunmer male/Champion of Azura), mentions of Ri'Saad and unnamed Teir'Dal/Dunmer and Feir'Dal/Bosmer

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My mother names me Casath.

I am born, not as a Dunmer, but as a Teir'Dal: a dark elf formed from the twisted magic of Innoruuk of Hate, rather than by Lady Azura's hand. But my father has rejected Innoruuk's teachings, has married my mothers, has sired two children, and now none of us are safe on the plane of Norrath – especially not my sister and I, who have barely even seen our second moon.

So my family runs. My mother leads us to Faydark Forrest, the realm of the Feir'Dal, the wood elves that raised her as their own though she is a Teir'Dal and not truly one of them. Even there, though, my father is met with wariness. My sister and her mother are met with disgust. My sister's mother is a half-breed, with human blood in her Feir'Dal veins; once a lowly servant before my parents took her to wife. Thus my sister is a patchwork of different bloods – an abomination in the eyes of my mother's adopted family. We soon move on.

My sister's mother is crafty; she bats her pretty blue eyes and convinces the harbormaster to let us onto the next ship out to another land. Father's remaining gold ensures additional silence.

Six months pass, and when we finally exit the ship we have arrived in a town called Anvil, in a land called Cyrodiil. We take brief refuge within the town, but we are still fugitives and my parents dare not linger.

On the road outside of Anvil, Father and my mothers befriend a merchant named Ri'Saad. He is traveling north soon, says he is in need of guards for his caravan. He offers my parents a job. They accept.

My sister and I spend our childhoods in the company of the Khajiit.

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Trying to finish the writing challenge I started last year but had to put on hold thanks to a move. ^^;

Champions of Norrath was my very first RPG, though I never got to play EverQuest aside from CoN on the PS2, so I'm not as versed in the EverQuest lore as I am with Elder Scrolls.  
I also RP as Gol Nazyn from CoN on tumblr. Inevitably everything crossed over in my head and Casath became Gol's son by my partner's Teir'Dal Champion; his sister (my partner's Bosmer Dovahkiin) being the daughter of Gol and one of my partner's tumblr RP muses. Cindorril (the sister,) Tila (the mother,) and Venn (the sister's mother) will all be eventually appearing in later prompts.


	3. Life of the Party

Disclaimer still applies.

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Day 21  
Prompt: #88: Life of the Party (400 words)  
Song: The Legend of Dragoon OST – Whispering of Trees

Characters: Whiterun caravan (Ri'Saad, Atahbah, Ma'randru-jo, Khayla), Gol Nazyn, Casath (Dunmer male), Cindorril (Bosmer female), Tila (female Teir'Dal), Venn (female Feir'Dal)

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Despite having two mothers and a father, the tiny elf-kits that had become part of Ri'Saad's caravan were often left in Atahbah's care while their parents were on guard. Not that anyone minded; the female Khajiit was patient and attentive and the children adored her, so getting them to heed her instructions was a simple feat.

There were times, however, when it probably would have been better for Ri'Saad to watch them instead.

One such occasion came along at the end of a particularly lucrative month – just after their latest supply pickup, which had been heavy with high-selling items and a wealth of rations for the members of the caravan.

They made camp along the road. Ma'randru-jo helped Ri'Saad unload the tents while Khayla chopped firewood and Gol stood guard, Venn and Tila having already collected their bows and slunk away into the woods to hunt. Casath and Cindorril, for their part, stayed out from underfoot. Atahbah kept the elf-kits under a watchful eye as she dug through their new provisions for stew ingredients. No one paid any mind to the way she would occasionally stop and lick at her claws.

Once the elven women had returned and dinner was bubbling over the fire, the company took the opportunity to relax in the scant hours before nightfall. All was peaceful. And then Atahbah simply… wandered off.

Cin was the first to call out for her in concern, having become aware of just how long 'Auntie' had been gone. Just as Gol was getting to his feet to begin searching for their missing member, Atahbah suddenly burst forth from the treeline, startling the children and setting the adults on edge.

She was wrapped in vines, leafy twigs and shrubbery tangled into her fur. In her hands was a sapling, dirty roots clinging to the base where Atahbah had ripped it from the ground. "Khajiit is king of the trees!" she shouted. She held the sapling-turned-scepter aloft. "And this is Khajiit's queen!" As she stroked its branches lovingly, the wad of roots and soil dropped to the ground with a plop.

Atahbah gaped in horror. "NO!" she wailed, "Khajiit has killed her only love! Live, my queen, liiiiive!" And with a long, anguished sob, Atahbah ran back into the shadow of the woods.

Everyone just stared after her in stunned silence – Ri'Saad already thinking of better places to hide the moon sugar…

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SO FUN STORY, the whole "king of the trees" thing actually happened.

I did a couple of plays waaaaay back in high school, and one day before rehearsal our stage manager comes running onto the stage wrapped in plastic greenery and carrying a fake potted tree. He jumps up onto a set piece, shouts "I am the king of the trees!" and waves his fake tree around while yelling about how the tree is his queen. The plastic planter falls off the bottom of the tree and the dude just starts wailing like a baby before running off the stage screaming, "live, my queen!" (He also came back later with fake holy shoved into his pants, shouting,"hey guys, you think I should trim my bush?")

So yeah. Atahbah's drug-induced dialogue is essentially verbatim to our poor, over-worked stage manager from high school. Good times, man, good times...


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